A Whisper

The Memory

Shiloh's first real memory was the
third day of grade school.

She'd been making memories for years
before, oh, yes, but this was a memory she thought on often. It
burned brighter than the rest, was heavy to carry, and brought a
sting to her nose like she was about to cry. Other memories were of a
dumber Shiloh, the Shiloh who didn't know anything about the world.
She didn't want to be that Shiloh anymore, not now. Not with them.

The monkey bars was where the cool
kids hung out. The grade sixes specifically. Sometimes younger
kids would play on it, but the Big Kids could be spotted from
across the playground from the top, like a coming storm at sea, and
the others would get a chance to run away. Every recess, every lunch
hour, every after-school care, the Big Kids reigned. Only some little
kids could be on it when they were, and that was up to them who could
stay.

There had been a different playground
for Kindergarten, an enclosed playpen of sorts with a few boxes and
balls and other such things that might pass for toys. The grade
school playground was so much bigger. Like moving from a small town
to the city, a foothill to a mountain, the moon to the sun. Shiloh
had seen it in the distance before, but to set foot in it was
awesome. At that moment possibilities of what could be played on the
T-bars here and what stories she could reenact over there were
bursting over her imagination like ripe fruit. There was so much to
explore, to discover and accomplish.

The recesses were not long enough. She
would only get to one rope bridge and study its intricacies on one
half before the bell pulled on her leash and drew her back inside.
During her carpet time her classmates and teacher would fade away
into the background as she brought up images of the tunnel slide or
the tire swings, coupled with a waterfall cave or medieval
battleground, in both a princess in peril trying to escape some evil
force. She had gone to bed on her second night concocting the tale
for tomorrow's fantasy, staying up well into the night to imagine the
details.

The memory was engraved at lunch hour. Her attention
wandered from the rope bridge, where dozens of pirates surrounded her
on every side and she was forced to jump into the crashing waves
below, to the monkey bars. Immediately she saw a dome-shaped jungle
fortress, vines and poisonous flowers winding through the squares and
triangles. She wended through wooden planks and other
children to the bars. She ducked through the gap at the bottom. There
were spiders crawling on the jungle floor! She turned and began to
climb to the top of the dome, slipping through and seating herself on
a rung near the top. The spiders below tried to climb after her but
could not tread the rungs so easily. They were the size of small
dogs, squealing like tiny pigs.

"Hey! Little kid! Get off there!"

Outside of the dome was a group of
grade six boys. The one who yelled at her was Thomas, or at least she
thought it was Thomas, with pale skin, freckles, strawberry blonde
fuzz with a tiny cowlick on his forehead. An apple for a body,
knocked knees, and a gap between his front teeth. He would make a
good Evil Pig King, she decided, invading from his pig pen lands to
the north to take over the monkey jungle and hunt all the spiders.

"Are you dumb or something?"
Thomas gestured at his ears and sneered at her. "I said get
down, little kid."

His friends snickered. The fantasy
faltered and began to crumble at its foundation. Shiloh stayed
planted where she was, no longer fearful of the spiders.

"You're not allowed to be here,
actually," said a second boy behind her. She contorted her body
to get a better look of him. He was short, skinny, and looked younger
than a sixth grader, though she knew he was. He tried giving her that
adult look that meant "I feel sorry for you." "You're
kind of not cool enough. You never play with other kids. You should
go now." He nodded with an all-knowing look.

"No one was using them."
Instead of that firm mad voice she had summoned, a soft murmur fell
from her lips.

The boys laughed. "We're going to
use them now. Go on, get down. Leave this to the big kids."

"No."

"What did you say?"

She didn't repeat herself.

"I think she said no," said
another boy, one who stood a couple steps back from the others. There
was an emptiness to his voice and Shiloh wasn't sure she'd heard him
right. His hands were hidden beneath his coat sleeves, arms and legs
rigid, body tight like a knot.

Something struck the back of her head,
making her bow suddenly and tumble off the bar. She landed on flimsy
knees and hit the ground so hard she felt it up her back. She tasted
sand and blood on her scream. Trying to roll over was like trying to
stab herself with a needle. Surely her legs were broken; all she
could do was tremble on her belly and cry some more.

The Big Kids had since fled and Miss P
had come to get her. After a few minutes of coaxing on Miss P's part,
Shiloh tried standing on unsteady legs (though she insisted over and
over that she simply could not walk into the school) and so Miss P
carried her to the principal's office. Shiloh clutched desperately to
her teacher's reflection vest. It's a lightsaber, Shiloh thought, and
I can feel stronger so long as I hold it.

The fall had torn her stockings at the
knee and left some scrapes. Shiloh swore she could see bone. Miss P
cleaned it off with stingy stuff, making Shiloh cry more, and
bandaged her up with big white wrap and tape. The principal, Mr. R,
asked her what had happened and who was involved.

"No!" Thomas shouted
indignantly when he was brought in for questioning a few minutes
later. "We never!"

Thomas hashed out a tale where they
were playing on the monkey bars and Shiloh had come by to play, and
when they asked her to leave she tried pushing one of the boys off
and ended up falling instead.

"He's lying!" Shiloh whined.

"Enough," said Mr. R. "Both
of you will be staying indoors for lunch on Monday to discuss this in
my office." To this Shiloh began to cry softly and Thomas began
to loudly shout about how unfair this was and she was the one who was
getting him into trouble. Shiloh wanted to shout the same things, but
it wasn't working for Thomas, and she hurt to much to speak, anyway.

Chapters

Kat Paul:
I know you mentioned thinking of making this into the introductory chapter of a longer story... What you have so far definitely intrigues me! My favorite bit is the twist about poor Bergen giving the creature the inspiration for its identity. What would interest me the most in the rest of the s...

Deleted User:
This is an artfully-written horror story which deals with the most frightening monsters in the entire history of the macabre: teenagers. Indeed, the author captures the speech, relationships, and general highly-charged, petty, and competitive atmosphere of high school so well, that you would swea...

duggsy:
This kept me intrigued, I only intended on reading 1 chapter but couldn't stop until I'd read the whole thing. The only let-down were a few spelling mistakes hence the 3 stars but otherwise a great read.

Tobi Doyle MacBrayne:
I was so impressed with this piece. The slow degradation of the main character into a dark and crazy place is beautifully written. I liked that the characters physical descriptions were not described because it gave me a sense that it could be someone I know or love. The grief that breaks the m...

E_W_Hemmings:
First of all, sorry this review took so long: I've had science mocks recently and then when I came to read this, I made notes to put in the review like I usually do... but then I deleted them. Well done me. As a result, this review is a bit more general than most reviews I write, but hey ho, let'...

MusketeerAdventure:
Well - I really enjoyed this very much! The whole idea of a shared haunting really intrigues me. I thought you did a wonderful job; and I really liked the idea of hearing from the first ghost's point of view. It would be interesting to read more about these two - and the ghost-busters that inf...

Deleted User:
(A review in progress). I like this. It's sparse, gritty and atmospheric - reminiscent of the classic Golden Age of American detective fiction of the Thirties. I've only read the beginning, but I'll definitely be back. This writer knows their stuff and has done their homework on detective work. T...

Alex Rushmer:
I read the first chapter, and I'm not sure I can handle anymore, but I certainly liked what I read. The idea of the drug, Fortis, was very interesting, and I enjoyed how you conveyed its effects. The beginning is very intriguing. I think I'd like to see you do a little more with the main characte...

shadowmaven:
At first, the word "Dagon" threw me, making me think that this was going to be a story based on one of Lovecraft's, and was pleasantly surprised--no, make that thrilled--when it wasn't (honestly, I like your mythos more). Your writing is so lyrical, deftly capturing this tiny village and the rela...

Resting-Madness:
I've been in love that strongly, that I could see myself in the same situation as Surgio. The slow crawl of desperation was well depicted, I could feel myself leaning close to the screen, like he and I were conspiring together on how to construct this Frankenstein of Adela. And that's written thr...

Shelley Miller:
The ideas and the set up and this are amazing! The feel of the story goes from science fiction to horror to suspense all in a big, thrilling ball. I really like your character so far and her powers and the idea of the ark being a person. The world is intense and gritty and clever as well. While a...